Guy and the Willow Wockys
by CaribbeanAzure
Summary: Young Guy has night visions on his way home one dark night...


_Guy and the Willow Wockys_

_A/N This story is part of an AU I am laboring over. So when you think that Guy is not where he should be, that's just how it is in my version of events. Guy lives no where near Robin or Much. I hope that you enjoy the story. I don't own BBC Robin Hood but I am searching on the internet for a Warp Core to help me jump the space time continuum. And (your only supposed to use that word to start a sentence if it is to denote extreme importance) don't make me get on my knees and beg for you to review._

The unannounced _snap_ made the young boy's curls stand on end, with teeth clenched he jumped a good eight inches into the air. He twirled around to see the origin of the noise - nothing, save the darkness. Heaving a relieved sigh, the youth turned back to face the endless row of willow trees that lined the path. He gulped, his home was still a ways off in the distance.

Creeping along he tried with all his might not to make a sound above a hairs-breath. Without much success, he bid his mind to think upon a different subject than the unearthly tale that his Uncle had confided to him not a half hour ago, when the lad was supposed to be staying the night with his cousins.

"_No, Guy. You stay down here," the boy's Uncle Beaumont commanded. He sat down before Guy and motioned for his children, Guy's cousins, to go upstairs. His older cousin, Irving, glared down at him from the staircase - obviously upset because Guy was staying up later than he was. The black locked eleven year old exhaled, knowing how much his Father's younger brother despised him for being the one to eventually inherit South Sussex. This couldn't bode well._

_Turning his attention back to his nephew, Beaumont said, "Would you like to hear a story?"_

_Guy blinked in shock - a story? What? Without waiting for a reply the man continued, "This is the story your grandmother told us, the other week, when you were sent to bed."_

_Cutting in was instinctive for Guy, "But my Father said that it was too horrid for us, he wouldn't let us stay up."_

"_Well, I don't quite agree with your father. Your old enough to hear about the Willow Wockys."_

"_Willow Wockys?" Guy wasn't sure if he should be frightened, curious, or completely skeptical. With a name like Willow Wockys, they sounded spindly and fuzzy, nothing frightening about them. Guy decided to remain detached from fear, this couldn't possibly be terrifying._

"_Yes, Willow Wockys. So…" and with that Beaumont launched into a tale about evil black gremlin like creatures that reside hidden among willow trees. They feast upon unsuspecting souls that traverse under the foresaid trees during the night. The narrative was overflowing with blood and fear as, one by one, travelers were picked off by the frightful looking cretins who were gorging themselves upon human flesh. First they would leap out of the trees, gouging out your eyes. They would let you wander around blind and in agony, till ever so slowly, they began to tear at you bit by bit. They howl as the taste of red, drives them into a frenzy and then that's it - you lie in a pool of blood, screaming for help as they eat you alive._

_Beaumont had smiled rather maliciously when Guy's heavy breathing reached his ear. The youth was scared to death, heart beating like there was a creature in the same room with them. And, with this malevolent deed being said and done, Beaumont sent young Guy home, in the dark, along the path - that was lined heavily with willow trees._

Guy shuddered at the remembrance of the Willow Wocky chronicle. He stared straight ahead, not daring to look from side to side nor behind him. If he was going to get devoured, Guy figured, there was nothing he could do about it, so why not pretend that everything was just peachy. He tried to remind himself that he had walked this path before in the dark. That calmed him, until he remembered that he had had his parents with him on those occasions.

Glancing up into the deep shroud of the willow trees, Guy knew that these were the perfect limbs for monsters to descend from. The hanging boughs, that had once looked so inviting for a young boy to swing from, now had become specters with arms reaching to grab you or ropes, with which the Wockys utilized, to slide down from.

By all means Guy was not a pusillanimous child, he had more gumption and bravery than the twelve paladins of Charlemagne, himself. But admittedly, during this occurrence, Guy was frightened. The wind howled around his lone figure, moaning and shrieking as it blew past. Wildly, Guy imagined that these sounds were that of the Willow Wockys preparing for their banquet - him being the main course. The gusting wind billowed the limp willow branches outwards on the path. One swiped at Guy from behind, and then fell backwards with it's comrades.

Guy opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. He stood, paralyzed with fear at the thought that a rapacious Willow Wocky stood behind him, claws out and ready for the kill. Yet he still was alive, nothing was ripping into his cloaked back - for the time being…

Ever so slowly, Guy pivoted around, taking care to look in each conceivable direction for the creature that wanted to gnaw his bones. He felt his knees go weak at the relief that nothing was there and he continued to steal along the trail, ignorant of the fact that it was only a gangly bough that assaulted him.

Right on the edge of the wood, just beyond the willows, Guy saw a large hefty stick. Thinking about his next _encounter _he subconsciously made his way over to the natural staff. About halfway under the foreboding trees, the youth recalled his senses, gasping at his carelessness. He darted out from under the menacing branches and grabbed up his newly claimed fallen limb. He nipped back onto the path, swatting the leaves away from his face. There, he held his stick, ready to bash anything that dare to come at him. This was nearly as good as a sword, Guy thought.

He held the piece of wood up and off to one side, so he could swing at the slightest hint of provocation. Guy's ears pricked at a rattling sound coming from one of the houses of evil. He steadily looked up, the world going in slow motion. If asked twenty years from then, Guy could most likely recall every feeling that swept over him: his eyes blurred, his palms sweated, his nose filled with the imagined scent of death, and his tongue hurt as he accidentally bit it between his gritted teeth.

Madly, his staff of protection seemed to soar into the tree like it possessed a will of its own. It crashed and clattered through the leaves and branches, attracting every Willow Wocky in England! Before his legs began to propel him forwards, Guy stared in the direction of the flying object, his icy blue orbs wide with panic. At that instant he saw that he had just flung away his only defense.

Guy ran as quick as he could, forgetting all about stealth and keeping quiet. He hastened around the next bend and there, over the hill, was his manor, bright and beautiful waiting for him. Guy galumphed down the knoll and up the path. He shoved the door open, sprinted inside, and slammed the door behind him, pressing his back upon the structure. Panting he looked up - right into the startled faces of his parents.

With a gentility so slow and precise, Guy's Father placed his chalice on the table. Guy knew that his Father, Lord Roger, was angry to the point of serene tranquility - not a good sign.

His Mother, on a different note, set her own goblet down and hurried over to the frightened boy. Guy's hair was damp with sweat, Ghislaine observed, as she stroked his black curls. "Mon amour, ce qui est mal? My love, what is wrong?"

Guy started to reply but his Father interjected, "What are you doing back home? You were supposed to stay the night."

Cheeks aflame, Guy looked earnestly at his Father, holding back as much as he could, the insatiable desire to cross his arms in defiance, "Uncle sent me home."

"That's absurd! Why would Beaumont - don't you cross your arms at me Guy! That's better. Why would he send you home?"

"He told me a story and instructed me to come back here. He told me about," Guy pushed his dinner back down into his stomach, "The Willow Wockys."

In a sudden burst of anger, Lord Roger shot upright, his fury evident. Beaumont would pay. Because Roger knew that the French originating story his mother-in-law had told in it's entirety, was hardly a story for adults - let alone children. Still livid, Roger directed his young son up to bed, "And do not breath one word of this to Isabella, do you understand me?" It was bad enough that his boy had heard but he was not about to let his seven year old be tortured as well.

Shoulders slumped at the rage in his Father's voice, Guy trudged up the stairs and into bed. Alack, sleep did not come without a price. Old-timers, superstitious since childhood, would have said that a night-hag, bringer of ferocious nightmares, visited Guy whilst he slumbered. The poor lad tossed, turned, and writhed. Kicking the covers and muttering in his sleep, Guy dreamt of Willow Wockys rushing out of the foliage to devour him. The youth woke in a rush, blood curdled in his veins and a cold chill covering his body. He couldn't even begin to fall back asleep.

Before dawn, Lord Roger had left the manor and rode over to his brother's meager house. Taking special note of the willow trees that his son had to walk past in the dark. Not that Roger would confess to anyone but he had woken with a start more than once after he heard the same tale.

He dismounted his steed and rapped loudly upon the door, impatiently waiting for Beaumont. The latter came, sleep still decorating his eyes. Beaumont had no warning before Roger snapped at him, "Why did you send Guy home?"

"He wanted to go," Beaumont lied flatly, shrugging to further indicate that he knew not why his nephew left. "Maybe he was frightened and wanted his mother - you know what a mamma's boy he is."

Taking defense of his son, for once, Roger continued dangerously calm, "Beaumont, he is not. But, Guy did tell me something that I found rather disturbing. You wouldn't happen to know what that is, would you?"

Beaumont shook his head, mouth dry as the sands of Jerusalem. _The brat told! _He thought.

Roger glared at his younger sibling, "He told me that you repeated the Willow Wocky story to him."

"I assumed that he was old enough to handle it. If he was too much of a coward-"

"I can assure you that he is no craven whiner. You, Beaumont, are of a different cloth. Daring to go against my express wishes and trying to frighten my son, is something that needs to be dealt with." Not bothering to listen for any faulty reasoning that he might glean from hearing Beaumont speak, Roger ground out, "You will not go against my orders again, especially in regards to my family, understand? I am Lord of these lands, brother, and you will not forget that." Roger turned and went back to his horse, cloak fluttering behind him.

Roger stormed into the manor and spoke rapidly to Ghislaine. Guy huddled on the steps, out of sight but not out of hearing distance. "Guy may not be half of what I want him to be," Roger commenced slating his son. Guy visibly cringed as the words cut him far worse than any switch had ever done. "But he is my son. And I will not have him be tormented by my brother! The child was tut-gotten when he arrived, not that I told his Uncle that. Beaumont even went as far to say, that Guy wanted to go home himself and - and that he is a coward! No child of mine is going to be disgraced with such a reputation!"

Guy stared fixedly at one particular wooden step. A coward, his Uncle said - well if he wanted a coward Guy would give him a coward…

Guy took the long way to reach his Uncle's house the following day, excusing the strategy as the scenic route. He munched on an apple, enjoying the sweet tangy crunch as his teeth broke the red skin. Seeing his cousin, Guy swallowed the last bite he had taken. He waved the hand that held the fruit, calling the older lad over. Once he approached, Guy smiled and, after taking another mouthful of apple, said, "Hey Irving, wanna hear a story?"

_A/N Hi again! Just a little reminder to review! Also, if you are wondering what the Willow Wockys look like - picture the catlike gremlin from BBC's Primeval. That about sums up the matter. For those of you who haven't seen Primeval - go watch it! You won't regret it. Another thing, in honor to Lewis Carroll and his poem Jabberwocky, I used the word he coined - galumphed. Thought I'd tell you incase you wanted to file that away in the back of your mind under: Other pointless things I have learned._


End file.
